


Sugar Dreams, Flour Clouds

by orphan_account



Category: K-pop, TWICE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Bad Cooking, Baking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26108908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jeongyeon and Nayeon’s spontaneous foray into the art of cookie making might just turn out well.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Yoo Jeongyeon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60
Collections: #GGFLASHFIC





	Sugar Dreams, Flour Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> Not enough girl group fics but the ones in this collection are so good! My amateur baker ass wrote this in half-an-hour, obviously eating cookies.

“Tie these for me?”

Nayeon’s smile is all teeth and gums under the bright lights of the dorm’s kitchen, surrounded by a plethora of bowls filled with curious powders of the like, and dressed in an apron that all but screams it was stolen by their manager from the back of a penny stall.

Jeongyeon ponders the scene in front of her judiciously. She can smell the heat coming from the oven, warm and toasty, her mouth agape, the long-untouched stove finally seeing action as she steps forwards to take two creased strings of fabric from soft, offering hands.

“Double loop please,” Nayeon requests, holding her hair back to reveal the expanse of her thin neck, and angling her back for easier access. The gingham print of the dreaded garment is pulled taut against her chest, and the resounding hum of approval when Jeongyeon steps back obviously lets her know the princess is pleased.

“What are you making?” Jeongyeon asks from afar as Nayeon launches herself around the kitchen, never able to stay at one place for long.

Flitting skips patter against the well-worn floorboards.

Jeongyeon saunters over to the island, always lingering a few steps behind.

She watches as the refrigerator is thrown open, Nayeon’s wobbly arm carrying a jug of milk that promptly avoids a near-crash to the ground when she sets it down.

“Cookies,” is the answer, followed up by a dazzlingly-bright, pink smile. “All for me,” Nayeon gloats, twisting the metal ring off the milk jug. “I feel like the Little Red Hen.”

“Scents travel around the dorm easily, you highness,” Jeongyeon helpfully supplies, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. Any food in TWICE’s near vicinity only implies the incoming seven gremlins that will inevitably trash it, and overindulge their fickle appetites.

“Which is why it’s my off day,” Nayeon says simply, flitting to the cabinets to toss them ajar as well. “The other members aren’t here to interfere.”

She’s right, after all. There’s CFs to shoot and music shows to host, an otherwise empty hall of rooms to leave behind. Plenty of cameos are to be had, and chaos shoehorned into busy schedules.

Standing on her toes, Nayeon selects a canister of completely exotic-looking powder and shoves it across the countertop.

“Cookie type?” Jeongyeon finally has the mind to ask.

“Snickerdoodles,” Nayeon informs over the hum of the buzzing oven. The American word is flimsy, and foreign over her tongue.

“They don’t sound any good.” Jeongyeon wrinkles her nose, promptly unscrunching when Nayeon makes a jerky move to hint at an outburst. Too many times she’s been on the end of an annoying lecture; tired ears are a cumbersome tradeoff for being right.

Thankfully, what she anticipates never comes. “It’s always good to try something new,” Nayeon says, tossing a chain of measuring spoons from one hand to the other. She saunters up to the bowls already lined up by the stovetop, and sighs deeply.

Jeongyeon observes her using the spatula paddle the wrong way, and suppresses a guffaw of horrified pity.

“Let me help,” she offers enthusiastically, jumping up from her spot to shadow Nayeon when she gets started with cracking a row of eggs.

The sequential splats on the edge of the sink are nothing to admire, and within minutes, Jeongyeon has a cheap, stiff apron of her own on, sleeves pushed past her elbows, and one of Tzuyu’s spa headbands holding her hair out of place.

She’s never been quite so great in the culinary department, but two heads always think better than one.

Even if Nayeon ceases to have a brain, and her no footing.

They’ll conquer the kitchen as a duo, just like everything else decidedly so.

* * *

The recipe shown over a cracked phone screen is in text so small Jeongyeon squints to read, vision blurred by the many spiderweb fractures in view. The longer she scrolls, the more the list expands, one silver-manicured nail tapping on abused glass.

“I need you to mix these together for me,” Nayeon commands from behind, lower lip jutting out at the latter’s furrowed expression. She shoulders her way over to the sink to rinse butter off her fingers, having just finished a whole beating session with a now-misshapen whisk.

“Who?” Jeongyeon asks, doing a full pirouette.

“The wet mixture and the dry mixture.”

“They both don’t look wet,” Jeongyeon notes, peering down at a mound of brown splat and a bowl of flour.

“Which one looks more wet?” Nayeon groans, flicking water from her hands into the metal basin.

“Want me to touch it?” Jeongyeon snorts.

“Just make the cookie,” Nayeon gripes, feigning exhaustion.

“Yes, madam.” A cheesy salute comes promptly after.

“...And you say I’m hopeless.”

“You are hopeless,” Jeongyeon affirms, withdrawing her hand from her brow to grab a stray wooden spoon. She stirs gooey slime into a divet patted into the flour, her elbows lifting at an awkward angle.

Nayeon bounds over, and sneaks a quick inspection. “There we go, you finally figure it out,” she says, hooking her chin over Jeongyeon’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”

“This is the batter?” Jeongyeon mumbles, scrutinizing the mass coagulated on her stiff spoon.

“Aren’t you wise, Captain Obvious?” Nayeon teases, turning to boop Jeongyeon’s nose. She prickles up at her side, and Jeongyeon lets the utensil in her hand clang against metal abruptly, dropping it from sticky fingers.

“I’m quitting,” she announces.

Nayeon rolls her eyes. “You’re no fun.”

“Reason for quitting,” Jeongyeon says, detaching herself from Nayeon pressed against her to dash to a faraway spot in the kitchen. She mimes whipping an apron over her head, her real apron still very much attached to her body. “Employee abuses of a hardworking, honest person just trying to feed their family.”

“Aren’t you the Oliver Twist?” Nayeon puffs, barely humoured before taking over the task at hand herself. She rotates her arm in furious circles for a few silent moments, and wipes her hand across her forehead before declaring the batter looks decent.

* * *

Nayeon’s serious warning of the very present threat of salmonella is met with Jeongyeon sneaking a finger of the forbidden dough out of the former’s sight when she turns away to reach for the cookie scoop.

The small, alien contraption makes a metal whining noise when the lever is clenched. The baking sheet screeches as Jeongyeon gets down on all fours to manhandle it per request out of the warming drawer, wiping off the thin film of dust collected on the untouched surface of the pan.

“This one is Tzuyu,” Nayeon deems the largest cookie ball, examining the rows of spherical goodness after all the dough has been transplanted from the bowl onto a square of curled parchment.

Her gaze lands on a similarly abnormal one, slightly smaller than all its counterparts, dubbing it Chaeyoung with a flick of her hovering pointer finger while Jeongyeon prepares to roll the chunks into a bowl of cinnamon without discrimination.

“This sucks,” she complains, the spice of the powder making her throat itch as she agitates it with a fork. The metal prongs scrape against glass clumsily as she prods the dough ball around.

“Last step,” Nayeon trills. “And boy, am I happy about it. I’ve been craving these all week,” she confesses, looking over at Jeongyeon’s handiwork, lined up in plain view.

Brown powder makes its way onto every surface formidably.

“Sounds like you,” Jeongyeon notes. “Hopefully I didn't poison these.”

Nayeon smiles coyly. “You would never,” she says, whisking away a completed cookie tray. She stoops down, shoving it away into the dark confines of the oven. “I know you too well, Yoo Jeongyeon. If you’re going to tell me you’re an evil witch, I know that too.”

“Didn’t take you for a bright one,” Jeongyeon says, rolling up a towel to use as a swatting weapon when Nayeon turns to force the other tray of cookies to join it’s banished counterpart.

Nayeon snickers when the towel gently hits the juncture of her hip and then below. “Set a timer,” she commands her phone, beckoning the dull voice of the robot assistant to count down from twelve minutes.

* * *

They orbit the kitchen in cleanup, quickly shuffling canisters upon cartons of ingredients deep into their respective homes, filling the sink with more suds than necessary, and popping iridescent soap bubbles in midair.

“Your cookies better taste good and be worth it or I’m quitting the industry,” Jeongyeon says, finally liberating herself from her apron minutes later. Standing to the side, she mutters empty threats under her breath as she hangs the smock up.

Nayeon’s own dangles limply off a hook in the dining room, covered in colorful stains, its owner slowly reaching for the handle of the oven.

A hot blast of air drifts into the room just as the phone beeps a wild cacophony of sounds.

“They will be,” Nayeon reassures, reaching deep into the hellish contraption. “They’re our babies,” she coos as she sets the piping tray down on the stovetop, dropping it frantically. “They have to be.”

* * *

The bit of flour still smudged on Nayeon’s cheek makes Jeongyeon’s heart lurch as she swipes it away, Nayeon’s head in her lap, both of them ending up on the sofa a few hours later to munch on slightly flawed, but still valid cookies.

They’re every bit better than she could’ve hoped, and with the absence of most of their members for at least another hour, Jeongyeon marks this day as one for a book of legends, nibbling through the fifth consecutive treat in half-an-hour.

“Snickerdoodles?” she asks again, running a hand through hair that smells like watermelon conditioner.

Beneath her, Nayeon laughs boisterously. “Told you so,” she says. “Told you they would be good.”

Jeongyeon leans down to kiss her receptive co-baker in gratitude, both of them laughing at the crumbs tickling sensitive lips.

Nayeon’s mouth ever sweet against hers, warmth blooming in her heart, both of those emanating from the baked sweet still clutched right in Jeongyeon’s hand.

She grins, rather like a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> Snickerdoodles and 2Yeon are too good.


End file.
